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Walking Corpse
Welts adorn the walking corpse
Blood seeps from cracks in his skin
Darkness swallows the air around his frame
The greatest pain comes from within
The loss of his family and dignity is the source
Signing his soul to Uncle Sam, expecting fun and games
War became hell, even from above
Shot down, the squinted eyes offered no love
Onto the rack, stretching and breaking his back
Cut with fan belts and constant beating which had formed those welts
Who would have guessed he would survive the pain?
Who could have guessed this poem is about John McCain?
A true American Hero, he should inspire GI Joe.
A true politician in the mists of puppetry and superstition.
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